


Perfect

by Melibell



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Abuse, Blood, F/M, M/M, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibell/pseuds/Melibell
Summary: Weyoun serves the founder in all things. The Founder takes out her frustrations on her pet. Omet'iklan follows orders.(No Beta, We die like Jem'Hadar! I have rated explicit to be safe, as I may add more ficlets in the future and they only get more gremlin from here XD)
Relationships: Female Founder/Weyoun, Weyoun/Omet'iklan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Perfect

“Strip” The founder lounges in her peculiar half humanoid form, her flesh shimmers, almost translucent, one of her feet dissolves into the ocean of the great ones. 

Weyoun takes a deep breath as he gently runs his hands over the rough edge of his simple shirt, breathing out as he drags it up over his head. Weyoun lets it drop to the floor, keeping his eyes trained at the ground, no matter how much he wants to meet the Founder’s eyes. 

His skin tingles at every touch he drags across his skin. He shivers with a chill of the wind traveling across the expanse of the great link, causing waves.

The band of the pants snaps against his skin as he lets it slip, he gasps at the sensation, hooking his thumb under the elastic ribbon again, slowly letting them slide down past his hips and lower. He steps out, swallowing, glancing up at the Founder before glancing down. 

The low shiver that shakes his body is partially from the cold and partially from the nervous thoughts that circle his mind. He slides his hand under the strings of the lace lingerie he had specifically chosen in case the occasion called for it, which it always did. That was the will of the Founders

“Stop” She orders calmly. Weyoun obeys, pointing his palms up, keeping his head bowed. “Move closer” she gestures, He takes a step, the stone cuts into his soft skin, his tail vibrates with exhilaration as the Founder reaches out to take him by the hand. She pulls him down, he drops to his knees, understanding her desires without the need for speech. 

The Founder lifts the hand she is holding above the vorta’s head, directing him to turn around before letting go. He lets his palm drop, as he crosses his legs, his back rests against the rock where she sits, it is warm. 

Her hands travel over his shoulders, rough and solid. They start to lose cohesion, getting hotter as she touches his skin. Weyoun closes his eyes, focusing on keeping his breath even. 

“You are such an obedient Vorta, my little darling Weyoun.” she smiles, her hands lose their solid shape as they stretch and travel lower to surround the soft darker velvet skin of his nipples. 

“Always Founder” Weyoun gasps.

She hums low. He feels a hand take him by the chin, brushing over the lower ridges off his ears, he feels his tail curl up into a spiral at the sensation. Her liquid warm touch spreads over his body in a thin film, lower over his exposed stomach, around his thighs. Weyoun feels a light pressure, he spreads his legs in response, arching his back as the warmth spreads in the pit of his stomach. 

“Founder…” he gasps as her undulating flesh moves past his thighs to wrap a tendril around the fabric and his straining length against the soft fabric. He is excited just at the idea of the founder's touch, and for it to be real, he can’t handle it. Weyoun moans as the tendril slides past the fabric to wrap around his dick, the tingling engulfing warmth feels better then he could have ever dreamed. A solid hand digs itself into his hair, yanking him back, forcing him to keep still. He had not even noticed he was squirming from the strange yet pleasurable sensations. 

“Did I say you could move Vorta?” she hisses, Weyoun glances at her glorious visage, her face is unsettling as she does not care to keep her form, it melts and reforms in no particular pattern. Weyoun swallows, pushing those thoughts down, the Founder is beautiful, she is always beautiful. “Forgive me, Founder.” 

She tightens her grip in the strands of hair, Weyoun tries to resist moving closer to lessen the pain. 

“You are forgiven my dear Weyoun.” she lets go, running her hand across his jaw gently, tilting his head back so his neck is exposed, he feels the touch of cold steel. “We made you so fragile, so weak.” she hums. “One flick of my wrist and your blood will spill on these stones” 

“Anything for you my founder” he shifts so she can see his open neck even better, a shiver shakes his body even if he tells himself that he does not fear. His mind briefly travels back to the many times he has been killed before in much the same way.

“We have much to do out there, how long has it been since you were off world?” She explores his body with slow measured strokes. Weyoun struggles to keep quiet and still, he is not sure where her touch ends and his body begins, the soft haze of pleasure descends over his mind. 

“I do not keep track, for every moment among the founders is a blissful eternity.” he slurs. 

She laughs, a small smile on her lips. The silence stretches, the sound of waves crashing against rocks, a strange sound as the wind has died down. The founder focuses on running her twisting tendrils over his body, brushing against his erection, he arches his back at every touch, his tail twitching where he keeps it pinned against the rocks. 

“I think it is time for you to do what you do best, the solids in this quadrant answer to our command but new creatures have come from the other side of this small universe.” She brushes a solid hand through his hair, Weyoun closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. 

She does not need him to answer. “There will be a new body waiting for you down in the main chamber, this one has grown old” she hums, dragging her hand through his hair, roughly breaking tight tangles. He hisses at the sharp pain breaking through the haze. 

“I am sorry Founder.” he huffs.

She nods “It is unfortunate that you solids age, if only we could preserve these perfect features forever” she draws her hand over the ear ridges. He shivers, letting a moan escape. 

She takes him by the throat, he chokes at the sudden lack of air. The Founder pulls him up until he is sitting in her lap, sitting would be a strong word as her body is not solid, it surrounds his soft flesh, as though a thousand small shocks moving quickly, he can't separate a single touch, it all blends together. 

Any focus he managed to keep is gone. He gasps and moans, trying to arch his back but she keeps him still. “Founder…” he begs, 

He opens his eyes but everything looks the same in the dull orange glow of the eternal sunset. 

She ignores his pleading gasps, smiling at how he is slowly coming undone. 

“It is time for us to bring that promised war, and as my most loyal and beautiful creation, even as a pathetic solid, I want you to make contact.” She hums

The tendrils around his lower body tighten and solidify even as they are still wrapped around him. Weyoun can't keep back the sounds of pleasure, he gasps as he reaches the edge and goes beyond, slumping against his Founder. 

She sighs. “Understood?” her tendrils withdraw, Weyoun barely contains his whimper, her touch had felt so good, so gentle yet firm. “Go get yourself cleaned up, you are filthy.” her features twist in disgust. Weyoun struggles to get to his feet, they shake. He is still very much aroused, the tightness in his stomach twists like a dagger. 

“Yes, Founder.” he bows walking backwards, it is forbidden to turn one's back on the Gods. He only turns around when he is out of sight. 

“Vorta.” a familiar voice sounds in the dark, to warn of their presence. 

“Omet'iklan.” Weyoun breathes out, letting the tension drain out of his body as he reaches for his FIrst, leaning against him. “Carry me.” he mumbles. The Jem’Hadar narrows his eyes but obeys, taking the small Vorta gently in his arms. “The Founder has given us a mission Omet'iklan, are you men still loyal?” Weyoun mumbles, forcing himself to focus, to push down the need to be used. 

“They are, my Vorta'' there is a beat of hesitation, one that has been happening more often. Perhaps it is not the loyalty of the man in question but of their leader. Weyoun looks up at the Jem’Hadar, a small smile tipping up at Vorta’s lips. Omet'iklan is not looking at him, that steel trained gaze looking straight. 

“What do you feel when you look at me Omet, do I inspire desire.” he reaches up to run his finger over one of the chin spikes that always fascinate him. Omet'iKlan tilts his head to the side to keep just out of reach. 

“Nothing, we are not made to desire.” There is that pause again, and he glances at Weyoun. The Vorta chuckles. “Unless I order you to desire”

Omet'iklan lowers his head as they walk into one of the Barracks, they are empty, the men must be doing something in the rest of the compound. The Jem’Hadar sets Weyoun on the floor, there are no beds or chairs in the barracks. “You are injured,” he states.

Weyoun looks down to see some of his purple blood flowing from several shallow cuts over his entire body. “Ah,” the pain hits him now that he sees the wounds, a low stinging. 

His First opens one of the lockers that cover the walls, taking out first aid. It has been a routine in the last few weeks, ever since the wormhole opened and visitors started entering the quadrant. The Founders do not like the unknown and the new and as a loyal Vorta, neither does he. 

Omet'iKlan kneels by his side and slowly moves the tissue regenerator over the wounds, Weyoun slumps back against the wall as the pain fades along with the wounds, they will leave scars, they always do. His skin is littered with old and new wounds, that must be the reason why the Founder has prepared a new body for him. He takes a deep breath. “Omet'iklan” 

“Yes Vorta?” he pauses, looking up. 

“We will be leaving for the Alpha Quadrant.” he groans, standing up but his legs are weak, the jem’hadar catches him. 

“A mission?” There is a note of excitement, the First has been off planet but it has almost been five years. 

“Yes, The Founder has prepared a new body…” he trails off, swallowing. This hesitation is not like him, why does he fear. He shakes his head. “I require your assistance in deactivating this one.” He looks up, searching the Jem’Hadar’s gaze. There is a brief flicker of something but nothing Weyoun catches with his weak eyes. 

“On your order.” Omet'iklan straightens, still supporting Weyoun. 

The Vorta swallows, taking the Jem’s hand in his, directing it to where his implant is. “Take my...this body to Borath, he is responsible for the new clones, you will obey his commands during the transfer.” Weyoun focuses on keeping his breathing stable, ignoring the tightness in his chest. Omet'iklan puts away the tool, there was no need for it in the first place, Weyoun still appreciated the gesture. 

The Jem’Hadar feels for the implant. 

“Wait…” Weyoun stops him. “Terminate this body in a more quick way... the implant is only used for capture.” He glances away, he has heard stories of the older Vorta telling that the implant is not quick and painless, yet another thing Weyoun should not know. 

Ometi’klan nods. He moves one hand under the Vorta’s chin, the other to the back off the neck. “Sleep well my Vorta” 

Weyoun chuckles, then there is a snap and darkness. Vorta, after-all do not dream. 


End file.
